


Don't Leave Me

by lame_aries



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Depressive, Jock - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Unilock, University, geeky outcast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 05:32:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3598221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lame_aries/pseuds/lame_aries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes struggles with a deep depression that leads him to a heroin addiction which reveals his past. A relationship between him and an older classmate fall deeply in love, but one day,  his lover disappeared.  Sherlock is left without a clue and longs for his other half to return, But it seems he never will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Leave Me

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly - sorry for any errors in capitalism of "Sherlock".. My device I use for typing isn't friendly.  
> Secondly - I apologize for if its uneasy to follow. "//" mean switching from present to past Sherlock -"Past Sherlock" his present self's memories/dreams. I can't really explain.  
> Thirdly - Part 1 introduces the story to get a feel of things. I'm aiming for just about a total of 3 shortish parts.  
> Fourthly - please comment!! Crictism is always welcome! I want to know what you guys think!  
> Enjoy!

At first it was of something euphoric. A warm tingling sensation ran throughout the veins of his body. Relaxation of his mind to rest. The world closes in on him. It all becomes a blur. Only the remaining lights of the city outside his window brightens his world. Voices from within the walls. Voices from down the halls. Sherlock Holmes, a young consulting detective, nothing more than a high school drop-out. Some claim he left because he was too intelligent for even the university, others say he couldn't handle loosing his loved one, small amounts say he had gone crazy, but most only think it was because his heroin addiction. 

Voices of his classmates swirl in his mind making an unpleasant stew.  
So many fucking voices.  
They taunt him. He feels a sudden heaviness. Who gives it a shit about those people anyways? 

All but John. John his person. Made just for Sherlock.

 

//

 

The warm sunlight blazed against the green grass and leaves on trees in the university. Young ladies and young gentlemen sitting in friend groups sharing mutual interests of their boring lives.  
Sherlock passed the crowds eager to find a spot to light a cigarette or two. 

You could spot sherlock in a crowd if you were looking for him, he wore dark shades over the school uniform. His dark curls were like waves in a deadly storm. His skin glowed as if he had been sheltered from the sunlight his whole life. He had an odd beauty about him that most people never saw, for they didn't even acknowledge him. He was a ghost among the living.

He puffed the cigarette letting the smoke curl inside his lungs. Smoke. The deadly chemicals all a part of his friend circle. He cared for each friend letting them fill his lungs and letting them go before becoming attached. As the friends left his body he can't help, but feel a sadness. Attachment. Something sherlock has never felt since he was a mere foolish child. The loss of his pet dog, Redbeard. He swore to himself he would never become attached to anyone or anything.

An off-limits door opens behind sherlock. His instant reaction is to put out the cigarette on the pavement. Murdering all his soon-to-be friends. Sherlock stared down at a shorter, yet older, boy. His hair a dirty blonde, his skin kissed by the sun. His features like a piece of handsome art, a masterpiece. The boy stared back at Sherlock.

A girl chewing bubblegum walks out behind him. Her uniform is obviously way too short and her button up shirt undone revealing a pink bra. Her bleached blonde hair in a tight pony tail. She scoffed and kept walking. "Come on Jo-o-hn," she said with an incredibly annoying voice. She turned around the corner leaving the boys alone.

John, the perfect boy, reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Sorry 'bout that." He said calmly. A voice that was addressed to sherlock. Something of a warm manner filled inside sherlock's body. He pulled out a cigarette and handed it to Sherlock who was too astonished to comprehend the gesture. "Ya'know these are banned here, right?" The shorter boy asked. Sherlock took the cigarette from the other and simply nodded. "What about it?" Sherlock questioned having a collected tone.

John smirked.

 

//

Another shot of heroin.

//

 

He walks the corridors alone. A single book and pen in hand. Lessons are ridiculous especially when he can't think. His mind buzzing with the thoughts of that boy, it wasn't like he saved him from dying. All he did was offer him a cigarette. A special one. A cigarette too good for sherlock. It was kept in his back pocket. It was a comfort device, a floatation from his drowning surroundings. The simple white cheap cigarette was nothing of value. 

Classes over, sherlock walked back to his dorm. Beyond a few trees sat John and some other boys. They all wore varsity jackets besides John. He wore only his undershirt. Sherlock's ears felt warm looking at the beautiful being. John's grey eyes caught a glimpse of sherlock. Something miraculous happened next. Something Sherlock would never imagine it to happen to him. Something that only happens in fairytales.  
John approached him.  
Sherlock began to walk out of pure instinct. 

"Hey, kid, wait." John said.  
As if John's words captured sherlock in a rope, he stopped immediately.  
Sherlock turned to face John, and John welcomed him with a smile. Sherlock made a thin smile in return.  
"What? You're just gon'a stare at me and not ask me my number?" John questioned with a soft chuckle.  
John's breath was the most handsome thing sherlock has ever heard.  
"You're number?" Sherlock questioned.  
"Yeah, a cell phone number. Ya' got one?" John asked.  
Sherlock nodded.  
John took Sherlock's book and pen and wrote his cell phone number inside the front cover. "By the way, the name's John Watson."  
"Sherlock Holmes" he replied instantly, "my name is Sherlock Holmes."  
John gave a short chuckle walked back to the group he was originally with. Their faces all full of smiles and saying teasing words while John just shrugged his shoulders. 

//

Sherlock vomits into the toilet and wipes his mouth staring at his reflection in the mirror. He gives the reflection a face of disapproval towards it, an ugly thing it is.

//

Sherlock held the book in his hands. Tracing his finger over the pen marks. beside him on his small bunk was a small slick black flip phone.  
Sherlock gets a shot of anxiety as his finger touches the phone. Butterflies explode throughout the inside of his stomach as if a more taunting drug was consumed by him. He feels uneasy but types the number into the phone.

John Watson?  
-SH

After a painful minuet of total regret, Sherlock's phone chirped.

Mysterious gothic kid?  
-JW

Another chirp. 

I'm just messing with you, Sherlock Holmes was it?  
-JW

Yes.  
-SH

Ah.  
-JW

What?  
-SH

Nothing. Loosen up, kid. So what's the deal with you?  
-JW

Deal with me?  
-SH

Sherlock was confused and almost hurt by the comment.  
Chirp.

Tell me about yourself, Sherlock. I want to know about you. :)  
-JW

A small grin spread across sherlock's face.

You'll have to find out.  
-SH

Tomorrow by your little smoke hideout. :)  
-JW

 

//

Sherlock gripped the rim of the ceramic sink. Pain swelling throughout his mind. Sherlock's trip was just like they all were. Not an escape to ecstasy but rather a morbid reminder of his past when he was actually lighthearted for once. It sickened him. Those awful memories.

//

 

Sherlock waited impatiently. He skipped his classes just to be sure he would be able to be with John. As the hours passed sherlock began to question if John was just going to show him up or if it was some joke. Sherlock never had a single friend or anyone to acknowledge his existence.  
The final bell rung and students fled from the main entrance. Sherlock was about to return home when he heard the door creaked open. "Huh. You got here fast."  
That voice. It was such a sweet sound in which you could run your fingers through as if it was a warm soothing brook. Sherlock turned to face the voice.  
John Watson.  
His eyes were rather distant as well as his facial expression. He had a smile but his eyes had no gleam. Sherlock deduced he was probably up late last night, no, the event was more recent. School? Hardly. Someone had to be nagging at him, irritating his mind to have such a dark tone. John's clothes were rather wrinkled unlike the day he saw John with the girl. Ah-ha! The girl!  
"How'd she take it?" Sherlock questioned.  
"How'd–what do you mean? How did you–"  
Sherlock realized he didn't even greet John before he asked the question.  
"How did you know me and Sarah split up?" John questioned in response.  
"Oh, it was simple, really. Just one glance at you and you can see it." Sherlock said dully rambling on about John's distinctive features that show he just broke her heart in the last class.  
John smirked, "brilliant."  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow.  
"Anyways don't get all cocky just because I broke up with a gal and now I'm having plans with you." John said placing his buff hands into the pockets of the university varsity coat he was wearing. "I'm not gay."

Those words almost hurt sherlock. As if his heart was gently grazing upon thistles. As if the three words were a gang of men beating him to the ground. He felt a lump swell in his throat. He was unable to respond. He immediately regretted having the slightest feeling for John. For even talking to him. He hated himself. He wanted to flee the conversation. To run and never look back. 

"I mean – I would make an exception with a pretty guy like yourself." John said breaking the painful silence.  
A warm hand reached out and touched sherlock's cold cheek. On the tips of his toes John gave sherlock a simple kiss.

 

// 

Sherlock caught himself touching his cheek and lips in the spots that John once did. When sherlock first felt a spring of emotion. Something so powerful that only John made him feel like. In love.

//

 

His reflexion in the mirror was rather typical. I few acne scars but a smooth pale face. His hair in waves like a ocean surrounded by the darkness of night. He was rather typical, he thought. Besides the painful difference from his classmates. He kept to himself. The reflexion was in no means "pretty", but that day Sherlock began open his heart a little. Scraping the surface of 'holding a no attachments' grudge he had always had. As a boy he made a vow to never get attached to a living creature as long as he lived after the loss of his beloved dog. He made this vow so he would never feel the pain he did ever again. To never be involved and to never be attached.  
He disregarded this.  
Sherlock was going to see John today. John had texted him the night before telling sherlock he had plans for them after school and over the weekend. Sherlock packed a backpack with another outfit and some money. He skipped classes and stayed in his dorm.  
He turned on the water for the tub. Steam covered his face in the mirror. He smiled to himself. Never has he felt such an energy alive in him. He removed his clothes and slipped into the water leaving him to think and relax for the next hour or so. The hot water sent shivers throughout his body. Sherlock looked at himself in the water. His pale skin reddening- he wondered if John would like his body.  
If John would approve of all his parts and love them each.  
If John would kiss every joint of him with those soft lips.  
Sherlock slid his hands through his hair he tried to avoid the thoughts for now. He needed to focus on logical things.. But how could he with John always on his mind? 

// 

Sherlock's eyes shut. It had felt like a gapping black hole was in the dead center of his brain. Sherlock saw the dim reflexion fall. And that's where he slept. Upon the floor of his bathroom. He felt like he was far away. His whole body was moving towards the stars above. If his eyes could roll any farther back the veins in his eyes would explode.. Although that was impossible. He would continue his story when he wakes and has another shot of heroin. 

\- End of part 1 -


End file.
